The Misery of Officer Mary Bennet
by the dread pirate buttercup
Summary: On an outer spiral arm of the galaxy is a small military base. The home of thrilling super spies, haphazard covert operatives and their health and safety officer who must deal with flame throwers, concussed relatives, and official mayhem whilst keeping her sanity intact.
1. Chapter 1

_Five things that make my life miserable_

 _1\. Timed showers_

 _2\. Rules_

 _3\. People breaking the rules_

 _4\. Familial duty_

 _5\. Ash (See rules 2,3, & 4)_

The small, green light by the showerhead turned amber, and flashed five times. Mary furiously attempted to rinse out the remaining soap bubbles before the water shut off, with the little red light remaining that way until it blinked green again in 8 hours time.

Water, like everything else on base that had a budget, was carefully managed, used and recycled. It had to be imported by tanker, and the commanding officials were not keen on it being wasted by those who fancied themselves a prima donna whilst carrying out their morning ablutions. It also meant no one was late for roll call. Mary could understand their stinginess, but it didn't mean that she didn't think of the bathroom of Longbourne, in all of its beige glory, with an air of longing.

She pulled on her grey uniform, and left her bunkroom to go to breakfast. Breakfast was the best part of Mary's day, because it was only on very special occasions that everything went wrong _before_ she became acquainted with her tea and toast. She could sip and contemplate humanity in the knowledge that today she might scrape it through without being responsible for any screw-ups.

She hadn't even made it out of the Southern Wing before her pager bleeped, and deep in her heart, Mary knew what it would say before she had even unclipped the device. She had been expecting it ever since she had reluctantly signed off his mission that (apparently) required six flame-throwers, a ten-year-old gymnast, a potato peeler and a genie's bottle. Honestly, she was impressed it had taken as long as two weeks.

Mary reached the intersection where the domestic quarters joined the main artery of corridors that connected the base together, and paused to mourn the breakfast that might once have been hers if she were to continue down the corridor. The moment ended, and Mary turned right instead of left towards the law department, and all the joys held within.

Mabzinio's office was in bare essentials like almost every other room on the base. It was functional and square, with few personal touches or artistic flair. Mabzinio was a tall, wiry man, with a pencil moustache and rimless spectacles perched across his broad nose. He was behind his desk, contemplating the ceiling and clicking his rollerball pen when Mary entered the room. She didn't mention anything about rocking on two legs of his chair.

"How bad is he?" she asked bluntly.

"Mild concussion. They are keeping him under observation." Replied the lawyer, still gazing at the ceiling. Mary couldn't see the interest. Plasterboard tiles, like every other office in the facility.

Mary hesistated, "And the gymnast?"

Mabzinio shifted his attitude to give Mary his full attention – he leant forward, placed the pen on the desk, linked his fingers together, and placed four chair legs firmly on the floor. A calm smile graced his features.

"All is well."

Mary wasn't convinced. One did not get paged at 7:15 because 'all was well'.

"I see I have not convinced you. Please, Officer Bennet, take a seat." He gestured to an identical chair the near side of the desk. "I was surprised too. We know Ash well, you and I. Perhaps too well?"

"Well enough," replied Mary. "It's not uncommon in my line of work, I am afraid."

"Nor in mine." He replied, smiling. "But then, without people like Ash, would we have these jobs?" he shrugged. "Probably not."

"What do you need me to sign?" asked Mary wearily.

"To the point as ever, Officer." He replied, pulling out a manila folder in the calm deliberate way of his.

"I am missing my breakfast for this."

"Ah," He paused briefly. "My apologies." he nodded in acknowledgement.

Mary withdrew the thin wedge of papers from the folder, and began to scan them.

"How did he hit his head on a tree? He was no-where _near_ a tree." She frowned. "The local language doesn't even have a word for tree! There was a reason they weren't included in the risk assessment."

"Events took an unexpected and unanticipated turn in direction. Unfortunately, the details are unclear." Mary didn't know why this surprised anyone anymore.

"Agent Lockley's memory has been sadly compromised. The doctors cannot say with certainty that his memories of the incident will ever fully return, or to what level of accuracy. In interests of efficiency, officials have decided not to wait the indefinite amount of time it may take to clearly establish the chain of events that led to this relatively minor outcome, but to file the reports with the information we have now and move on."

One knew all the tricks in the damage limitation book when it came to dealing with Ash and his ilk. There was a reason Ash's secretary was a lawyer.

There were fewer pages than Mary had originally feared. Most were duplicates, so they could be ferried and backed up and buried in all the correct departments. It was the usual confidentiality forms, technical specs, and a rather limp collection of statements from Ash, the gymnast, and the five members of the team unit that Ash had been commanding. She dutifully scrawled her signature in the indicated places, and by the time she was on the last one, a hot pain au chocolat and coffee had appeared in front of her.

"To make up for your lost breakfast." Offered Mabzinio genially. Mary gaped. She hadn't seen pain au chocolat since Elizabeth's wedding breakfast. It was practically mythical this far out in the sticks. "Don't worry. I will bill it to Ash."

…..

Mary had been unsure whether Ash's superiors would deem it necessary to inform next of kin of his injuries. Normally for something so minor they wouldn't bother, but Ash had previously requested home leave for the following week. Nobody had seemed sure quite who would be informing Lord and Lady Matlock their eldest would not be gracing their presence.

Personally, Mary had been in favour of releasing Ash on his nearest and dearest and seeing if anyone would notice the difference, providing it didn't result in Elizabeth chewing her ear off. Elizabeth seemed to think Mary was just a highly militarised baby-sitter. What she didn't seem to appreciate was that Mary was a relatively minor member of a _team_ of people who worked very hard just to keep their reckless, covert operative alive, and that Ash had a lot more to answer to when it came to his personal safety than she did. However, attempting to explain this was pointless, and all Mary could hope was that she would be transferred before Lydia qualified as an agent. _That_ didn't bare thinking about.

It had turned out that nobody, not even Ash, had informed any of his relatives that there had been a change in plans. This was why Mary was sitting in one of the snug little booths of the Post Office, with a telephone receiver pressed up against her ear and swearing that if he wasn't already, Ash would soon be concussed until Christmas.

"We were wondering if you had heard from Ash at all?" Elizabeth dropped nonchalantly, after exchanging pleasantries.

Having seen no need to go to the infirmary in person, Mary could technically say she had not. Heard _about_ him? Sure. Direct communication? No.

"Haven't you?" she offered, innocently enough.

"No." Replied Elizabeth darkly. "He was meant to be with Lord and Lady Matlock for the last few days, but he never arrived. They contacted Fitzwilliam this morning wondering if he had come straight here for Georgiana's birthday celebrations."

Mary idly stared at the graffiti scratched into the small table in front of her, and fiddled with the telephone coil. She wondered briefly if there was any way she would get out of this unscathed. She decided not.

Ash was buying her pains au chocolat until Christmas.

"Ash's memory is a bit hit and miss at the moment, or so I'm led to believe."

"No-one forgets they're on _paid leave_."

"Depends how hard they hit their head."

Let it never be said that Elizabeth was slow.

" _How_ hard did he hit his head?"

"I am not at liberty to comment."

" _Mary!_ "

"He'll be fine. But he can't go anywhere until he is dismissed from the infirmary."

"Why didn't anyone tell us!"

"Because it wasn't that serious!"

"He's in hospital! What do you mean it's not that serious?!" Elizabeth hissed.

"And you wonder why we don't ring home every time someone gets a paper cut?" Mary bit back.

"What happened?"

"You know better than to ask _that_ , Lizzie."

"Why wasn't he wearing a helmet?"

"Here we go." Muttered Mary.

"I'm sorry?"

"You know I can't talk about this Lizzie," Mary said bluntly. An evil thought flickered across her mind "but I will make sure Ash gives someone a ring as soon as he can form coherent sentences. Bye!"


	2. Chapter 2

The Infirmary was on the top floor (that is, ground level, for most of the base was buried deep within the towering shelf of rock that overlooked the great desert-sea on the Southern Fringe) of the base. When the weather was fine the shields could be lowered, and the natural light from the small sun that orbited the all-but-dead planet was able to filter in through the dusty skylights. Natural sunlight was deemed beneficial for patient recovery, and it was hoped this would counteract to some extent the depressing nature of the infirmary's interiors. Years ago, before a Class C wormhole opened up in the neighbourhood, the base had been of more scientific nature than military, and the infirmary had been the primary laboratory. It had not been designed to sooth and nurture, but to inspect and dissect, and often the patients felt not much had changed in the intervening years. The agents were made of stoic stuff, and did not complain, even if they strongly suspected they are being quarantined in a refrigerated ex-store room.

They didn't complain to the nurses, at any rate.

"Mary! My own flesh and blood-"

"I'm not."

"-closest of all my relations,-"

"Wrong again."

"-more like sister than cousin!"

"Of which I am neither."

Ash paused in poetic recital to consider her words.

"Perhaps once we were not." He conceded, "but the bonds forged through near-death experiences and marriage of near relations are practically the same."

"They are really not."

Ash ignored her.

"I began to think you had forgotten about me. That maybe you had hit your head really, really hard, and had forgotten that I had been holed up in a refrigerator until I can satisfy some po-faced doctor I am no longer a risk to society."

"Relatively speaking I assume."

"But I realised that if that was the case, you would be holed up in here with me. Or at least in the infirmary at large." He gestured vaguely towards the door and the infirmary beyond, "But none of the nurses knew of any patients answering your description. And I did make sure to question every single one quite thoroughly." Ash winked, and grinned rather roguishly.

"It never occurred to you to ring someone?"

"I tried your extension several times Mary. Why are you never in your office?"

"Like your parents, you complete nitwit, or one of your brothers. Or even Darcy for all I care!"

"Georgiana!"

"Any one member of your ridiculously close knit family group would do."

"No, I mean, Georgiana's party! What day is it? You lose track of time in this priest hole. See one sunset you've seen them all I say." He muttered furiously as he started rummaging through the cardboard box on his bedside shelf.

"What are you looking for?

"Here it is!" extracting a small digital device that looked decidedly broken. "Ah. Forgot about that. Would you mind taking it to Quart to be fixed?"

"What the hell happened to it?" Asked Mary, and regretted it before she had even finished speaking.

"Oliphant." Answered Ash, frowning, "I think. Don't suppose you know what day it is in Pemberley?"

"The party is tonight." Replied Mary dryly. "I don't think you'll make it."

"Ah. Best give Georgiana a call then." Ash glanced up at Mary's face from poking his broken pocket calendar. "That's why you visited! Someone called you!" Ash huffed indignantly. "Well, you can tell them I don't need a baby-sitter."

"Tell them yourself!"

At that moment a well built, rather terrifying nurse with a clipboard and slicked back hair opened the door.

"Matthias Ashley Lockley-Fitzwilliam?"

"You need to get me out of here Mary!" He cried, melodramatically, "I before I kill my mother or myself – whoever is closer. I am reminded several times a day of my ridiculous collection of names, and I am convinced it will be enough to detain me in this closet forever on grounds of insanity."

"Stop being ridiculous Ash, if you can possibly help it."

"Sometimes they even make me say them myself! Cruel, cruel world!"

The nurse paid him no heed, and was instead checking both the board at the end of the bed, and the monitor that was connected to Ash through a collection of wires. Mary felt this was as good a time as any to leave.

"If I take your calendar to Quart, will you promise to ring Georgiana tonight?"

"Cross my heart, hope to die. Fifty needles in my eye." Sang Ash, then with a hasty glance at the nurse added "Figuratively, of course."

Picking up the broken gadget, Mary got up to leave. "Don't tempt me."


	3. Chapter 3

Things that do not bare close examination

Several weeks had passed since Georgiana's birthday. Ash had been released from observation and was back to full duties specialising in Being Very Important and an All Round Pest. Mary had retreated back to her office, with nothing more dramatic than a dodgy fire alarm in one of the greenhouses disrupting her usual routine.

The wide breadth and nature of Mary's work, and its low standing position in the hierarchy resulted in a lot necessary files, folders, reference books, charts, plans, maps, instructions, assessments, forms, and guarantees being stored in a rather small office. Due to differences political, technological and anatomical, The McFaddon & Hollyway Trouble-Shooting Time-Saving Agency (or to those that cared, The Agency) had not embraced back-up data drives as much as Mary had expected upon commencing her employment. - Not that it didn't have its place of course, for in the centre of Mary's desk was a sleek computer monitor and keyboard, but like Mary, the rightful place of digital storage was situated beneath an archipelago of paper; next to the monitor was an equally sleek printer.

She was in the process of ordering a new pair of safety shoes, when a loud crash resounded unexpectedly from the corner of her office. Mary's initial instinct was to duck behind her desk. The disruption dominoed outwards from its origin, knocking furniture and sending avalanches of ring-binders and paper to the floor.

When most of the chaos had subsided, Mary hazarded sticking her head up from behind her desk. Slumped in the corner on the remains of the filing cabinet that had contained the star charts was a figure, moaning pitifully. The face was obscured by a curtain of golden tresses, and the curvaceous figure was swathed in an elegant ballgown that was now somewhat worse for wear.

"What on earth…"

The figure swore, and lifted a hand to her head to push back her hair. Mary climbed around the desk and scrambled over to help.

"Lord Mary! What you gone and done that for?"

Mary froze, "Lydia?"

"Who else is it gonna be?" she growled back.

Who indeed would Mary expect to teleport themselves into the corner of her office? No-one, really.

A multitude of insults, exclamations and questions fizzed through her brain, battling for prominence.

"Are you gonna help me up or what?" snapped Lydia

With great difficulty and much argument they managed to disentangle Lydia from the corpse of the filing cabinet. With a growing sense of dread Mary noted each scorch mark and singed hem on Lydia's gown. Luckily, there was enough bickering to be had with Lydia to distract her from the worst of it.

"I still don't know why you put the bloody thing there in the first place."

"You're blaming me?" Mary cried incredulously. "Why, exactly, should I not put my own filing cabinet in the corner of my own office? You, I might point out, were the one who teleported yourself into it, without any reference to me." She continued angrily.

Lydia stared at her for a long moment, before cursing loudly at the ceiling.

"I swear, one of these days, I will kill that man. Seriously. With the day I've had, and then he sends me here?

Even if Lydia had given Mary time to collect her thoughts into a response, chances were it would have been unintelligible.

"Not that you would understand, no, because WHY WOULD SHE UNDERSTAND YOU MORONIC BAG OF TOAD PUSS?"

Mary knew from long experience that when Lydia started shouting at the ceiling it was time to intervene, lest she start breaking things, which was inevitably how things progressed if left to follow their natural course.

"Lydia. Calm down."

Lydia shot her an icy look, though the effect was somewhat lost when a strand of golden hair slowly slid across her face.

Mary fought the smile that threatened to overtake her features. Laughing at an angry Lydia would not improve the situation.

Lydia swept the hair back in a huff, and idly fiddled with her bracelets. "I'm sorry Mary. You weren't to know. I promise to give Jack a slap for you."

"You know you are not making any sense?"

"I'd say I will, but you know then I'd be lying, and I promised not to do that. You'll understand though."

Lydia gazed at Mary with a look she didn't quite know how to interpret. It was a picture that did not fit with a flighty, air-haired Lydia – all dark hair, short skirts and youthful naivety. Here was a grown and experienced woman, with pain and wisdom in her eyes and a packet of bleach in her hair. Mary found it disconcerting.

"Lydia, what is happening?" sighed Mary wearily.

"Just keep that corner clear of any filing cabinets in the future."

Suddenly there was that small drop of pressure that occurs when someone or something teleports out of a room, and Lydia was gone.

Mary surveyed the chaos left in the wake of Lydia, and decided she really didn't want to examine that last comment too closely.


End file.
